


Hero of Your Own Story

by Lihai



Category: Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lihai/pseuds/Lihai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next holy war is still centuries away, and sometimes Pandora wonders if she would survive the wait. Post-manga, with cameos by some of the surviving Saints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero of Your Own Story

After a while Cheshire was prone to wandering off by himself, and Pandora brushed away his half-hearted excuses. Soon he went missing for whole days, leaving her alone in Giudecca. Unnerved by the silence, she left the underworld for her family's castle.

The building was a mausoleum even during the height of the holy war. The dead bodies that used to be her family and servants had vanished long ago. Unable to live with the possibility that they suffered eternal damnation, Pandora chose to believe they were sent to one of the lesser hells. It was the least Hades could have accorded her, the general of his army.

"Papa, Mama," she said aloud, walking along corridors that had once teemed with Specters. "Partita." The echo of her voice had a hushed quality to it that she found maddening. This castle, which was hers, dared to defy her words by only partially repeating them. If it were a living being, Pandora would have guessed it was angry at her - for being alive when her family were not.

"I didn't kill them," she snarled at the sconces on the wall. Their lights, borrowed from the fire of the underworld, never went off; Hades might be sealed away but his power on earth wasn't entirely spent yet. "I didn't kill them - you know who did!"

_Hades did_ , the corridor walls seemed to sigh. _Your lord did. The lord for whom you threw away your home and your loving parents._

The family portrait hung where it always had, the frame well-polished and the colors vibrant as ever. Pandora couldn't stop staring at the laughing little girl on the canvas. For a second she wanted to smash her fist into that innocent face, then she wanted to weep. It was her fault that the little girl had ceased to exist. If the girl hadn't been destined to become the general of death's army, she would have lived hapily ever after.

Still, what was past should not bring regret, only lessons.

Her bedroom was dust-free, the bedsheets neatly turned and smelling vaguely of mildew. Pandora kicked off her shoes, peeled off her dress, and curled up under the sheets. This wasn't homecoming, much less total comfort, but it was close. Having two and a half lonely centuries ahead of her, she could use every bit of warmth available.

*

Countless hours had passed when she stirred into wakefulness. She didn't like that - she was accustomed to knowing precisely what time it was, what had happened in the meanwhile, and what she would do next. But perhaps two and a half centuries would teach her a new habit.

In the previous wars, the Specters were defeated and then came back to life one by one. Often this took place during the century before the next war. Pandora thought she might die of boredom if she was to spend the next one hundred and fifty years with only Cheshire to break the monotony.

She should carry her harp back here. But dragging a huge musical instrument from one realm to another took only half a day. What should she do after that, compose new songs? How mind-numbingly banal.

"Come back to life now, Specters," she said, sliding down from the bed. "Come back to life and we will destroy Sanctuary before Athena is reborn."

No response, which didn't irritate her as much as it should have. Like the war, death's soldiers were biding their time. Pandora, the keeper of the torch, must likewise be patient. Oh, what a hateful word that was - patient - and more so because she had no other choice.

*

The first Specter to be resurrected was Radamanthys. Pandora accepted this as a matter of course, though she also admitted to being glad. Most of it was sentimentality - having someone willing to die for you caused you to feel either contempt or fondness. She tended toward the latter; he was such a stubbornly loyal person that it was difficult not to admire that loyalty.

He lurched into the castle on a stormy afternoon, sopping wet and bone-tired. Pandora steered him toward the fireplace, where she set fire to the logs with a flint. Both the logs and the flint were there just before she heard his steps in the hallway. A new set might materialize with the next Specter that arrived. She must make sure to direct them to the underworld immediately, before they thought she had become their caregiver.

"I'll be upstairs," she told Radamanthys and left the room. This man, with his hair plastered to his skull and the lines of fatigue on his face, was not yet one of the Three Judges. Until he returned to that state of being, Pandora had no obligation to cater to his needs more than what was strictly necessary.

Outside, the rain abated and cool night fell. Bored with listening to her own music, Pandora sat on her mother's rocking chair and recalled her grandmother, on whose lap she used to sit and learn lullabies. This bout of nostalgia brought on no guilt since it wouldn't make her pine for the bygone days - she was stronger than that.

Cheshire danced into the room, baring his fangs happily at her. "Radamanthys is back!" he announced.

"I noticed," Pandora said.

"No, Lady Pandora, I mean he's returning to his old self! He's dry, he's alert, and he ignores me. Any minute now he'll come looking for you!"

"Don't be so happy to have someone ignore you," Pandora advised, climbing down from the rocking chair. "Where is he now?"

Walking back toward the fireplace, Pandora was struck by the change in Radamanthys. His expression was as savage as if he had been wearing his Surplice instead of being wrapped in a fraying blanket. (Which maid had kept this blanket and not thrown it away? Pandora's mother would have disapproved of this flawed article in her household inventory) His gaze followed her as she strolled in, Cheshire at her heels.

"I'll see what I can find in my father's wardrobe," Pandora said. She hoped not all revived Specters would feel bound to come here - her father only had so many sets of clothes. "Stay there," she added, feeling like she was addressing a stray dog.

Being taller and broader than her father had been, Radamanthys had to struggle into the shirt and trousers. The end result made Pandora wonder if he wouldn't be better off with the blanket. After telling him to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, she went to the underworld with Cheshire.

No one else had turned up, there or anywhere else. "Not fair," Cheshire grumbled. "Some of Athena's Saints are still alive, even if most of them have lost their Cosmo."

It was, Pandora agreed, unfair, but not for long. The surviving Saints, unlike herself and the Specters, were mortal and would die soon. The ones that would fight in the next war, save for Aries, would have no experience of it. Patience might not be such a useless virtue after all.

*

The next night Radamanthys went up to the music hall. He stood by the dais while Pandora's fingers thrummed out her song. Then, having finished it, she peered at his inscrutable face.

"Do you want my thanks?" she asked. "For saving me from Alone."

"I didn't do it to earn gratitude." His voice was low, rusty. He had sounded exactly like this when he used his last breath to whisk her away from Alone.   
"Unsealing Athena's power was a mistake. But you ended up safe, so I..."

Pandora took his hand. It was cold and stiff, as though he was partly a walking corpse. But he wasn't bleeding, and there was no one bent on shredding him to pieces. She could live with a little coldness.

"You always looked past me." Now she was whispering. "To you, the general was simply another member of the army. All that mattered was the master. A perfectly correct attitude, by the way."

"Did that..." He hesitated. "Did I offend you?"

On that day, he could have pretended she hadn't been there with him. He could have charged straight at Alone, and he and Pandora could die together for the glory of Hades. Being foolish, he wanted to both serve their master and protect her. Perhaps this early resurrection was a reward for that foolishness.

"No, you didn't offend me," Pandora said. "And I am grateful to you. I am truly - " she faltered, remembering Valentine's venomous outburst. "I'm truly grateful."

His cold flesh alarmed her; would he ever feel warm again? Did he return to life early just to become ordinary and helpless? However, now that he was here, the two and a half centuries felt slightly shorter than before.

*

No other Specter returned to life in the following week. Cheshire flitted in and out the castle, fascinated by its persistent cleanliness. Pandora herself was a little spooked. The castle's preserved state was like the reminder of a debt - one she didn't ask for but must repay.

Naturally, Radamanthys took on a more positive outlook. "Lord Hades is taking care of you," he suggested. "For taking up his cause and standing up to Alone. It's a reward for your faithfulness." 

His hands had grown less cold lately. The savage determination in his eyes never wavered, and Pandora had found bigger clothes for him. All in all, he looked presentable, if nowhere near his Specter self.

"You can leave this castle, you know," Pandora said. "This place must be like a prison to anyone who's not me."

"I like it here, unless you want me to leave."

"I want you to decide for yourself."

He weighed on his options, then shook his head. "I like it here."

Pandora wished she could be as single-minded. "If you ever stop liking this castle, don't wait for my permission and just go."

*

Reading had never been one of her favorite pastimes; she read only when she needed to. The castle library, with its endless shelves of books, was a legacy from her grandparents that she never much cared for. Nevertheless, it was the only place she hadn't explored since her return.

All the books were so pristine as to be hair-raising. No cracked spines, no faded lettering on the covers, no folded page corners. The books looked like embalmed bodies, Pandora thought, suppressing a shiver. For that matter, everything in the castle looked like embalmed bodies. Even the flames at the fireplace had taken on a dull orange cast.

She pushed the book she had been holding back into the shelf, aware that the spines were all perfectly aligned. That was when rain struck the window, so abruptly that she swirled around. In no time at all the racket grew to a crescendo, and Pandora hurried out of the library.

The storm was the worst Pandora had ever experienced. The wind shrieked like a cacophony of tortured souls, while near-horizontal rain lashed out against the walls. Pandora wouldn't have been surprised if a windowpane or three had shattered.

She stayed in her room, feeling like a terrorized five-year-old. Thunder boomed every now and then, so close that her ears rang. If she had been five, she would have wept and buried her head into her mother's bosom. That was one of the perks of growing up - fewer people to hold you in their arms and soothe you.

The next morning, rainwater pooled on the ground, which had turned spongy and sometimes treacherous to tread. That aside, the weather was bright, almost sparkling. Ages ago, on such a morning, Pandora had taken her dog Adolf on his first trip around the castle. This memory, and others like it, was a sign that she needed a break from the damn place.

"Why, where'd we go?" Cheshire asked. "The nearest village?"

"I never said we. You go wherever you want, I'll take a walk by myself."

Barren earth and shapeless rocks were all that she found within a radius of two miles from the castle. The nearest village was nearly five miles away, and by the time Pandora reached it, she was drenched in sweat. She should have ridden in her carriage, now stashed near Giudecca, but that would have attracted too much attention.

Not that the village folks were oblivious to her. Their glances, too, were neither covert nor shy. A belligerent-looking man barred her way and demanded to know why she was here.

"Passing through," she replied, trying to sound bland. One twist of her little finger and the man would break in two. But she was searching for a change of scenery, not trouble.

The man's eyes glittered with hostility. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere in particular. I'm just taking a stroll. If you don't like me being here, I'll leave."

"You look exactly like her," a woman spoke up. Her skin was seamed with age, but her voice was boisterous. "The lady of the castle. Different hair, same eyes and lips. My grandson worked there when everyone in it suddenly died. Do you come from the castle?"

A wave of murmurs _Is she the lady's daughter? Why is she alive, grown-up, and well?_ surrounded Pandora, crashed against her. The belligerent-looking man snapped, "Look at her skin, so pale! She's not human, she bargained with the devil so she can live. That must be it!"

The murmurs changed to _Evil magic_ and _Not human, not human!_ Mouth dry, Pandora backed away from the village folks. "I should be going."

"And don't ever show yourself here again," snarled the man. He spat and the glob of saliva landed right between Pandora's shoes. "You're a disease, it's written all over you."

Her fury caught up with her when the village was almost ten steps behind. Insolent insects! She should crush them, with or without the power bestowed by Hades. She should run each of them through with her trident, and there would be one more dead village in the world. How could she ever imagine humans would mistake her as one of them? Her brain must be more muddled than she had suspected.

Underworld, castle. Her universe had shrunk to those two locations. It had done so for years, but the implications had never hit her so hard as they did today.

*

Cheshire flat-out stated that Pandora's plan was madness. "They all know you," he argued, drawing himself to his full height. "As soon as they see you, you're dead!"

"Aren't they supposed to be the good guys?" Pandora flipped back her hair over her shoulder. "All I need to say is I mean them no harm."

"It's Sanctuary, Lady Pandora! Athena's lair! We're responsible for most of them being dead! The soldiers will never let you see Aries."

The solders might not, but higher-ranked Saints would have a different opinion. Suspicious but curious, they would take her under heavy guard to the Pope's chamber. Pandora knew how the Saints' minds worked. "If you're so worried, come with me."

Cheshire hissed like a cornered cat. "Why do you even need to go there?"

"Striking a little terror into their hearts. Showing them we're not afraid of a few measly Saints. Always impress on your enemy that you have the upper hand."

"I'll go with you," Radamanthys offered. He was standing by the window, the afternoon sun glinting in his hair. Even without his Surplice, he was the very picture of a watchful attendant.

"We'll go unarmed and wear casual clothes," Pandora said. "Those Saints are too principled to attack unarmed people."

"This is a bad, bad idea," Cheshire growled.

"Or you can stay here on your own," Pandora replied, and Cheshire stopped grumbling.

*

Reluctant to come too near to Sanctuary, Cheshire remained in Athens. Pandora and Radamanthys, dressed as tourists, walked up the hills leading to the twelve houses. Soon foot soldiers swarmed around them, spears pointed.

"We're here as guests," Pandora announced. As she had predicted, the soldiers showed no real intention of attacking enemy leaders for fear of their power. "We'd like to see Aries Shion and speak with him."

A Saint, young and ponytailed, took them to the Pope's chamber. He was courteous but aloof, not even deigning to state his name. However, as he left, Pandora heard a soldier address him as Teneo.

Aries Shion was resplendent in the Pope's regalia and motionless as the throne he sat on. He and Libra were already doomed to walk a long, deserted road. Like Pandora, they did it without complaining, because they knew no other path in life.

"What brings you here?" Aries said without preamble.

Pandora regarded the chamber from floor to ceiling. No seals or barriers here today; she moved and breathed as freely as she would in her castle. On the other hand, it was obvious Aries waited for her or Radamanthys to make a wrong move.

"Commiserating with you," Pandora smiled. "We are all waiting for our masters to return. I'd just like to see how the other half lives."

A crease formed between the new Pope's eyebrows. Shortly, if he continued to receive guests like Pandora, the crease might become permanent. "You've seen us."

"And now Radamanthys and I will see ourselves out. Before that, tell me - are you satisfied with your lot? How do you know for certain Lord Hades won't defeat Athena next time?"

She paused, replaying the questions in her mind. They sounded aggressive, bordering on whiny, and that wasn't how she had meant them to come out. Cursed Aries! Sitting on the throne so tranquil and smug, as if he wouldn't face the next war as a desiccated old husk.

"Both of us trust our leaders," Aries replied. "And they would do right by us. That's all I do know."

Cut it with the superior act! Pandora thought, and winced at her own petulance. Yet it wasn't too late to exit with dignity. She swung around, wishing she were dressed in voluminous skirts instead of a pair of jeans. The sound of her skirts swishing would have been gratifying.

"Two and a half centuries," she admonished as Radamanthys followed her out of the chamber. "Make sure you stay hale and hearty, Aries." But even that parting shot felt sour.

*

Weeks crawled by. A year had gone past since Pandora said her farewells to the twin gods. Cheshire still enjoyed touring the underworld and making ventures to cross the void into Elysion. Since it was unlike him to plunge into a suicidal mission, Pandora didn't bother commenting.

Settling into this new rhythm of life was disturbingly easy. The war felt like decades ago instead of only a year. Even the visit to Sanctuary began to resemble a passing reverie; had Pandora really spoken to Aries and taunted him? Surely not, or she would have fought the Saints to pay for her audacity. And yet the sorrow on the Pope's face remained clear in her memory.

She slept long hours, sometimes for the better part of a day. In one particularly vivid dream, her mother was alive. The two of them went riding across meadows in twilight, the galloping of the horses resounding in Pandora's ears. On waking up, she was gripped by a feeling of loss so complete it was almost despair.

Once, when she slept in her room in Giudecca, the voices of the Specters seemed to seep out of the cracks on the walls. The twang of Pharao's lyre, Violate's fists striking against each other, the crackle of Kagaho's flames. These sounds eased her into sleep and chased after her during the waking hours, rigorous reminders that death's army would rise again.

"I hear those sounds too," mumbled Cheshire. "They creep me out."

"You must be joking. What's more natural in a palace of death than ghosts?"

Bereft of their guardians, the Prisons were nothing more than haunted houses. Pandora sauntered near a table where Rune's scribes used to sit, running her fingertips lightly across the table surface. It was as spotless as the furniture in her castle. All of death's soldiers were precisely like this table: frozen in amber until the start of new battles.

"He gave me no choice," Pandora said. Speaking to herself in large rooms had become a new habit, and why not? When everyone was gone, there was no shame in relying on yourself for comfort. "He had Thanatos and Hypnos snatch me away from my home. He gave me no choice and I hated him for it."

Shocked by her own admission, Pandora stumbled away from the table, heart hammering against her ribs. Any time now she would fall to her knees and die. Hades would never allow such seditious thoughts to blossom. Any time now.

Minutes ticked past. Her chest still rose and fell. No invisible hands clamped around her throat and squeezed. Outside the tall doors, the light waned even further. Struggling against a sudden stab of fear, Pandora ran out of the Prison, followed by the sound of quills scratching on paper.

*

Radamanthys wasn't perturbed that no other Specter had returned yet. He believed Hades would bring them back when they were strong and ready. Too tired to wish for that single-mindedness yet again, Pandora only nodded. "We're stuck with each other and Cheshire for now."

"Not a problem for me," he replied, ever the staunch warrior.

They were standing on the balcony, and Pandora leaned against the railing. The wind whipped her hair away from her face and neck, and she relished the coolness on her skin. "Assuming the sheer boredom won't kill us first, we'd be ready for another war and a victory."

Typical of him, he considered her words to be true rather than flippant. "I'll do everything I can to help you become less bored."

"Will you?" Then Pandora sighed. His steadfastness might make her angry and grateful in turns, but at the moment it did neither. For now she was simply relieved to have someone to talk to. Besides, in the centuries to come she might treasure him even more - especially during hours when she was unsure of her dedication to Hades.


End file.
